


Tense Slip

by Phrenotobe



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Hand injury mention, Mention of Robin's death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 04:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4652427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phrenotobe/pseuds/Phrenotobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The inn has a pegasus painted on the sign above the door, and Say'ri counts it as good tidings. It is the third sign she has looked at and it hangs the least square - a card in the window indicates that there are no extra rooms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tense Slip

The inn has a pegasus painted on the sign above the door, and Say'ri counts it as good tidings. It is the third sign she has looked at and it hangs the least square - a card in the window indicates that there are no extra rooms with faintly elegant letters, but Say'ri enters anyway. There is value in looking alien, when people believe you have money and can't read.

The woman who sits behind the dark counter in front of the keys looks drawn and tired, the hotel livery faded, hair trimmed neatly to her jaw.  
"Excuse me," Say'ri says, leaning heavily on her valmese upbringing as she does. The woman peeps with shock, her knee hitting on the underside of the counter hard enough to make the bell tweet half a ring.  
"Say'ri!" she says, "Is it really you?"

Say'ri has the decency to look abashed; after the fall of Chon'sin it had never been regained, and she'd left the army shortly before what had been the tactician's final loss.  
"Cordelia," she says, pronouncing every syllable to give herself time to think, "This is indeed a surprise."  
"I'll say so," Cordelia said, lifting the counter to come closer, "I barely recognized you. I'm afraid the rooms are all full, and I'm waiting for the coal to come in."  
"I understand," Say'ri says, and tries not to stare. Cordelia's hair is still that striking hue no matter the length, and back in camp it paid second fiddle to the glowing white polish of her armor. In the half gloom it burns instead, lending warmth where by rights there should be none.  
"Can you tell me of a place I might sleep?" Say'ri asks, with a more mannerly cadence.  
"Everything is booked up," Cordelia says, "For the tournament. Nobody has a room spare. But... for an old friend," Cordelia says, with a twist of the mouth, "We were friends back then?"  
Say'ri dips her head in deference, low like a diplomat. The road outside is muddy and cold; it serves to be diplomatic.  
"Always," she says smoothly.  
Cordelia nods, confirming it.  
"I've got a third share here, and it isn't much, but I can get people to look the other way..." she whispers, trailing off as Say'ri lifts her head only to dip it again deferentially.  
"A place to rest," Say'ri murmurs, "Solace, if your arms can bear my weight."  
Cordelia's hand goes to her mouth, but she doesn't say no, not yet.  
"I need to finish cleaning," she says with honest surprise, "And hang the clothes, and-"  
Say'ri nods, rising. She reaches slowly to clasp Cordelia about the waist as Ylisseans did, back when Ylisse was a country still. It has been so long since Say'ri has seen a shepherd, and almost as long since she has felt comfort, too.  
"... I can help," she says quietly.  
Those hands are still strong, even as they ease away from Cordelia's sides to hang meekly. Cordelia's right hand puts to Say'ri's chest. It was once a strong hand, and an accurate one, but it has healed incorrectly, two fingers stiff in a partial curl.  
"Would you?" she asks, "I can't put you in one of the-"  
"Just a place to sleep," Say'ri says, "I'll get my own food."

It is settled, and Say'ri trades a week of below-the-stairs housework for a place by Cordelia's side. They sleep by the warmth of the kitchen stove, both chaste as they lay, though on the third morning Say'ri's sleeping breath tickles Cordelia's nape, enough to wake her up long before dawn's light usually does. 

The next week, Say'ri leaves to work as a mercenary, killing vermin and guarding houses through the night while people sleep. While away, Say'ri considers the promise of the next village or town, and that perhaps it will be easier, away from the thick clot of humanity and the bars swirling with unseemly work. She doesn't go back, not until she gets her coins, sleepless and empty of focus.

As Say’ri comes through the kitchen door Cordelia looks her over like she's seen a ghost - reaches for Say'ri's hands and pulls her further inside. The room is the same as had been, the old seat by the fire tipped slightly further toward it.  
"It has been cold lately," Cordelia explains, "I was worried you'd frozen to death out there."  
Say'ri shakes her head and lifts Cordelia's hand up to her mouth, breathing warmth over the fused and aching joints and rubbing them against the leather of her palms. Cordelia fusses instead, dabbing at a minor scratch.  
"Did you eat properly? You haven't bathed. And your clothes - I'll heat up something on the fire. A gentleman left his shirt behind. You can wear that tonight, instead of these same old things."  
Cordelia gives her a judicial nod, turning away to summon the shirt from where it has been neatly tucked.  
Say'ri starts to pull off her equipment, weary and feeling rather hollow. She goes to lay the pieces in the trunk she'd left them in the nights she'd stayed and drags off her jacket to join them. Pulling off her shirt, she laid it down, trying to snap her joints. The left shoulder aches, deeply.  
Cordelia meets her as she turns, and they dance a half circle before Cordelia takes Say'ri's hand and guides her to the stool by the fire.  
"Sit," she commands, and Say'ri drops a little too easily, "You're stiff. Do you care for yourself now? Somebody must."  
Cordelia's hands are not skilled, but she rolls the heel of her hand into every knot, ignoring Say'ri's muffled grunts of pain until she can't, and pausing long enough for Say'ri to wriggle uncomfortably to bump against her stilled palms.  
"You're chasing the ache," Say'ri observes.  
Cordelia gives Say'ri's shoulder a gentle slap, using two fingers and a thumb to nudge another stiff muscle.  
"You made it that way," Cordelia says, "And of course I'll chase what is hurting you."


End file.
